


More of You

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: F/M, Loki is sad a lot, Sif is a hbic, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn't have time for a love story nor did she want one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Loki closes his eyes he sees her.

She is ten and skinny. She is trying to juggle a red leather ball between her hands but, hopelessly uncoordinated, it keeps falling to the ground. Every time she fails she scrunches her thick, dark eyebrows and tries again because that is who she is. She is already stubborn. So she keeps throwing the ball up and after a while she can toss it high into the air and catch it without looking.

He hunches over his book and pretends he isn’t watching.

She is twelve and is fidgeting.

Every time she thinks no one is looking (but Loki is looking from behind a layer of magic, watching with an intensity that scares him) she scratches her thigh and tries to adjust the tight satin around her shoulders. If she is clumsy and poor at athletics, she is worse at sitting still and being pretty.

Underneath the blue dress that brings out the sky in her eyes, she is uncomfortable and scared because she knows that she will never survive in this world where speaking softly is required and wearing an ugly pair of earrings could lead to total failure.

He sees the fear in her face, hiding behind her easy, gracious smile and he is comforted that there is someone in the palace with more secrets than him.

She is fourteen and has taken to holding Thor’s hand.

Everyone coos over what an adorable couple they make. Loki knows they’re children playing at house but she takes the relationship more seriously than more people take marriages. He doesn’t have to use magic to catch his brother and his new consort in the act.

They are awkward and noisy and Loki pulls back a curtain and finds them entangled, Thor’s slobbering mouth pressed to her bare shoulder. Her dress is pulled down, showing a lacy undergarment that seems so out of character for the girl who talks loudly of being a knight. Thor ignores the interruption but she blushes as the awkward younger brother watches oafish, too-big hands fondle her pre-pubescent breasts.

Loki’s chest hurts and he walks away slowly.

She is seventeen and in his bed.

The wild look she carried throughout childhood has been tempered. Her bushy eyebrows have been plucked into elegant arches and where there used to be jutting bones and awkward elbows there are now sleek, hard muscles that bulge elegantly under the satin sheets. She has grown into her face, the one once whispered to be horse-like and while perhaps plain, she is undeniably good-looking with a sharp jaw and high cheekbones.

The only hint of her former days as an unruly, bad-tempered girl are her eyes, every bit as blue and turbulent as the when she fell out of trees and ran barefoot through the country side.

Loki traces his hand under the sheets, feeling fat and sinew and muscle along her calves. Her knees have the rough feel of callouses, of childhood bruises that never healed. His hand continues to travel up and she smiles wickedly with perfectly straight teeth that are lovely but like every other girl’s.

She is twenty and they are dancing.

She has learnt to wear a ball gown with something like grace and it suits her. The silver folds of velvet are soft against the hard scars of her skin. She has seen battle and it’s tempered the war cry in her eyes. Where once were freckles and smoothness is now rough and bruised and stitched together.

Loki reflects that she is quiet now. She no longer speaks of winning fame and riches with her sword but of dying for something noble. She speaks of death far too much for a young woman with pink lips.

When the music swells then slows and they separate she excuses herself and Loki knows she is good because she is unhappy. She may never recover from the sparse bloodshed she’s witnesses and he examines her pain in stark contrast to his own giddy amusement at ending lives in one fell swoop of magic.

She is twenty-two and he has lost her.

Loki knows this when she returns from somewhere and her arm is wrapped around Thor’s waist and they are smiling. She hasn’t smiled, genuinely smiled in so long.

 

 

He is several thousand years old and he is underground. Sometimes his jailer brings him a candle and he remember the light of the sun illuminating the shoreline or the peculiar warmth in Sif’s eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes when Sif hovers between being asleep and awake, she thinks of him.

She doesn’t like to dwell on him because as her mother always says, there’s no use reliving the past. Sif knows she’s made mistakes and she’s been wronged, but if she spent her time brooding about it, she’d never be able to function. The other girls who laughed at her when she was gawky and too tall are now her friends and while she doesn’t forget, she tries to forgive.

Thor has someone new and human and entirely unlike her. Yes, she could hate him and for a while she does. But hating Thor is too much like hating herself and Sif is no masochist.

It is rare that she thinks of _him_ and afterwards she always feels dirty and vaguely alone.

Her mother says that everyone has a few failed love affairs before marriage and as Sif has no desire to be married, she assumes her whole romantic life will be dotted with failed love affairs. This is oddly comforting though in the space between dreaming and thinking, she thinks she’ll spend all the disastrous romances between now and death trying to forget that one fling she had in her teens with him.

He’s always _him_ in her mind.

She never wakes up in the middle of the night with her hand between her legs thinking of Thor or Fafner or any of her other failed love affairs. 

It’s mechanically that she leaves her room one night, like one of those tin soldiers that wound up in the back that she used to play war with. She has just enough lucidity to slip a knife under the folds of her dressing gown.

Sif is not stupid, just exhausted.

Her bare feet pad against the stone floors and if the guards notice her slip down the stairs to the dungeon, they say nothing because everyone has a few failed love affairs. The air grows stale and the smell of mold and moss seeps into her nostrils.

Sif does not live in the past. She found that guilt didn’t suit her. She cries for those she’s killed in private. She begs Volstagg to forgive her for her infidelity behind closed doors. She scrubs the blood from her hands behind a thick curtain. Then she moves on because she is brave and everyone breaks some bones on the way up says her mother.

Then she sees him covered in rusty chains and something stirs inside her chest. He is asleep and with his eyes shut in the dark of the cell, he looks younger. The dirt hides deep lines formed prematurely by stress.

Sif tells herself that he’s just another person she’s fucked up. There were boys she hurt before him and there will be many more men before she’s dead.

She will never get over him.

She will smile in the daylight.

She will snap bones and draw blood.

She will lie awake at night and imagine the way his lips felt on her neck and she will vow to shatter skulls with more enthusiasm to get the itch out of her. She will hurt and destroy and mutilate everyone around her and she will always lie awake and know that she loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what this is but I love Sif/Loki and I love tragic romances.


End file.
